From the tainted sanctuaries of mortal guilt;
ensures an expanding abyss of grievance;
laid as a drenched butterfly on retribution's altar,
I kneel to cleanse myself of my blood-stained hands.
My existence is chained to an eternal curse;
the pioneer being my lust for mortal flesh.
Thus, the garment of my eternal rest is shredded;
with the emblem of agony upon my chest.
It appears the portals for my redemption are closed;
saturated to brink with dripping abominations;
as the pathways to bliss appears distorted;
and the links of my very existence are placed on probation.
Now the stench of my deeds are arrayed before all;
the wind has blown and it's all exposed;
and the herald of my anguish, I now recognize;
for I am my own serpent; I am my own foe.